


Cold Case

by Lordes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cruciatus Curse, Detective, Evil Minister of Magic, HP: EWE, Happy Ending, Heavy Emotions, Hurt, M/M, Minister of Magic, Oneshot, Plot, Post Deathly Hallows, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordes/pseuds/Lordes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the war, Kingsley Shacklebolt has been replaced as Minister for Magic by Minister Cyneric,who is set on re-opening every single closed Death Eater case. Unfortunately, Draco’s name is amongst them, assessed with the highest danger rating possible. Not able to live with the sentence given to him, Draco will have to find a way out of the mess the Minister has created for him and Harry…alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Case

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterdaffodils (zhem1x5)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhem1x5/gifts).



> First and foremost, thank you ‘T’ for the extreme thorough beta and ‘S’ and ‘S’ for all the help! Without any of you this would not have been possible. Also thanks to the Mod for her everlasting patience and smarts.   
> Dear Winterdaffodils, I had so much fun writing this, even when neither Harry nor Draco wanted to work with me. I hope you’ll like it!

The room is a dark, almost mossy shade of green. Torches are lighting only part of the walls, hiding most faces of the attending Wizengamot members in shadows. One of them, an elderly wizard with a long black beard streaked with grey, nervously clears his throat, while a young blond woman on the other side of the room reshuffles a stack of papers for the second time. 

“Reopening the case of Draco Abraxas Malfoy.” The man sitting at the head of the table taps the file in front of him once with his wand. He is middle-aged, has dark, shoulder length hair tied in a short ponytail on his back and auburn robes. “Aged 22. Currently residing on 147 Chester Square, London with Mister H.J. Potter. Current case status: dismissed.” He swishes his wand once to make the papers float into the middle of the room to stay and circle around each other. “Discussing the new evidence in case number 3094, Gylden Bungard has the floor.” 

The younger blond woman nervously looks around and swallows audibly in the eerie silence of the room. She picks up the stack of parchment in front of her, her hands shaking so badly she has to put it down for a minute to calm herself. “I don’t think we should do this,” she tries, glancing at the Head Auror before trying to find the eyes of her fellow members. “I think we’re making a mistake.” Her tone is urgent and serious, yet soft enough it could be considered a whisper. 

The room stays silent, not one person present daring to voice their opinion openly with the Head Auror in the room. Orders were clear, orders were strict: every single war case would be reopened, starting with anybody suspected of having been fighting on the side of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 

“And why,” the Head Auror starts in a bored tone, “would you think this is a mistake, Miss Bungard?” She can’t see it, but can almost hear the cocked eyebrow in his voice. She knows he thinks she is inexperienced, lucky to have got a job so many wanted, so many who, in his eyes, could’ve done a much better job than herself. 

“We shouldn’t forget we’re not _just_ dealing with Mister Malfoy,” she says. Her hands start shaking again and she curls them into fists in an attempt to control her nerves. “It was Mister Potter _himself_ who pleaded against the Ministry considering Mister Malfoy’s case.” The Head Auror stays quiet, staring at her with what looks to her like a very unimpressed expression. When it seems like he is not going to answer her, she tries to continue, but is interrupted. 

“The Ministry does not fear Mister Potter, nor his _opinion_ of us,” he says. “Do I make myself clear?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he continues. “The evidence, Miss Bungard.” 

Gylden looks down at her papers, defeated, and nods once. “I sent each of you a file with the aforementioned evidence, which you have all read by now. The evidence, derived from sources of the Minister for Magic himself, are primary in source, secondary in documentation.” She puts down the file she was holding and points her wand at the others still floating in mid-air. A quick flick of her wand has one of them floating above the others, rotating around its own axis. “As we can see in the first document-”

“We’ve all seen the evidence.” The elderly man with the dark beard on the other side of the room stands as he speaks. “And I am sure we can all agree it is of the highest importance this case is handled immediately.” 

“Ezekiel is right,” another man says. He is shorter and somewhat chubby with the nose of a pig. He speaks robustly, so much so that spit regularly flies out with every hard consonant. “The evidence, if in case, valid, is rather disturbing indeed.” 

A woman, probably around her forties, with long red curls, gets up. “Immediate action is required to ensure the safety of the Wizarding World,” she says, her face stern. 

“That is _assuming_ the evidence that has been found is _valid_ ,” Gylden says. “According to-”

“I thought we had established the evidence to be valid enough to be used in the Wizengamot trial of Mister Malfoy already?” Aldrin says sarcastically. “I think we are ready to assign a rating to Mister Malfoy.” He looks around the room calmly, a determined look in his eyes. 

“Anybody in favour of giving Draco Abraxas Malfoy a five-star rating raise your hands, please.” 

A set of 48 hands are raised, only Gylden’s and a woman’s she didn’t recognised stay down. Their eyes lock, Gylden’s confused, the woman’s sad.

“Adopted.” Aldren’s voice rings through the room. “From this day on, Draco Abraxas Malfoy will be guilty of treason against the Ministry of Magic on the account of Death Eater practises and will from now on be guarded under the five-star danger rating.” He swishes his wand, and as the papers rotating in the middle of the room come floating back to him he says: “Gentlemen.” The Aurors at the door turn and salute. “Immediate repercussion shall be executed.” He then looks around the room one last time. “You are dismissed.” 

As she leaves the room with the rest of the Wizengamot members, Gylden can’t shake off the feeling of having made a terrible mistake today. Something wasn’t right about all of this. Something was definitely not right.

*

The weather is cold and windy as Harry and Draco make their way over to the front door of their old English home. It’s a beautiful home, Harry has to agree, even though it might just be a little too pompous for him. However, his husband seems to love it and it isn’t the Manor, so Harry is okay with it. Not to mention that the view from their living- and bedroom is absolutely amazing.

As they enter they are greeted by their House Elf, Pip. Pip had joined them in their home roughly a year after Harry and Draco had begun living there. She had been fired by her last owner for being too peppy, which Draco had initially mistaken for the word ‘pippy’. This had resulted in the nickname ‘Pip’. It fit her well, and as she was now officially a ‘rescue elf’, Hermione didn’t seem to oppose, which was a good thing for the overall peace, too.

“Master Draco sir has company,” she squeaks nervously as Harry puts his scarf and coat on the peg in their hallway. “They is being in the sitting room. Pip has already been giving them tea, sirs.” 

“Tell them we’ll be in shortly,” Draco says and gives the tiny house-elf a quick pet before she walks back into their sitting room, her steps small and hasty. 

Harry looks expectantly at Draco. “Were we expecting anybody?” 

Draco shakes his head slowly. “Not that I know of,” he says before looking back at Harry. “Did she seem extra nervous, somehow?” He hands Harry his coat and scarf which join Harry’s on the peg. 

“Doesn’t she always?” Harry asks and smiles, throwing his arm around Draco’s shoulders. Draco has been a little paranoid ever since the war has ended, and uninvited strangers in their house is not a good sign in his book, Harry knows. “Everything will be fine,” he says. He lets his arm fall from Draco’s shoulders and takes his hand. “Come on, let’s see who’s here for us.” 

As they enter their sitting room, Harry sees a group of roughly eight Aurors sitting and standing around. Harry recognises maybe a couple of them, but the rest look unfamiliar to him. “Can we help you, gentlemen?” he asks. Draco is partly hiding behind him, not so much that it’s noticeable but just enough for him to feel safe enough around a group of men he doesn’t know personally. 

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy?” a larger man in dark red robes in the back of the room asks. His black hair is tied back in a short ponytail. Harry recognises him from pictures to be the current Head Auror, but knows nothing else about him. 

“Yes?” Draco says insecurely. Harry feels him gripping his hand tighter and squeezes back in reassurance. 

The Head Auror moves so swift and unexpected that neither Harry nor Draco have enough time to respond. Harry gets blasted against the far wall of their sitting room as two Aurors corner Draco. A quick spell from the third disarms Draco while a fourth casts a binding spell on Harry’s arms. He screams and a burst of his magic shatters the windows and every single other glass item present in the room. Two more Aurors grab him and hold him down as he watches the Head Auror cast a spell on Draco. A single silvery thread gets shot out of the tip of the Auror’s wand and wraps itself around Draco’s neck. As Draco scrunches his eyes shut tightly, twitching on the floor in pain, the black-haired man unrolls a scroll of parchment. 

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy,” he begins. “From this day forward you are officially convicted as a former Death Eater and direct threat to our Wizarding Society. Therefore you shall live on, banned from using magic. In case you breach your sentence and the rules which have been laid upon you, you shall be transported to Azkaban for life, immediately.” 

Harry struggles to get free of the two men still restraining him. “You can’t do this!” he screams. “He was cleared of all charges _years_ ago, you have _no_ right-”

“Spare me your assumptions and accusations,” Aldrin says in a bored tone as he lets go of the end of the scroll, which rolls back up. He waves his hand once and the two Aurors let go of Harry’s arms as Aldrin casts a _Finite Incantatem_. Harry wastes no time, gets up and pulls out his wand. The Head Auror looks at him, annoyance clearly visible on his face. 

“Now is not the time for heroes, Mister Potter,” he says. “So if you know what’s good for you and your…” he shoots a glance at Draco, “ _husband_ ,” he spits the word out as if it’s something disgusting, “you’ll put your wand away.” 

Harry is breathing heavily. Anger is soaring through him and as he sees Draco’s unconscious body lying on the ground next to him he is torn between running over to him to make sure he’s okay and ripping out the Head Auror’s throat. He decides on the first, puts his wand away, shoots the Auror a look of pure hatred and rushes over to Draco’s side. 

Aldrin chuckles. “See, now that’s a _good boy_.” It comes out in a drawl and even though Harry isn’t looking, he can still hear the smugness present in the man’s voice. He turns to look Aldrin in the eye. “This is not the end of it,” he threatens. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it is,” Aldrin replies, eyebrow cocked and smug smile visible. He turns and leaves through the front door, the team of Aurors he brought with him following without sparing them as much as a second glance.

*

The Ministry is bustling with life when Harry Apparates inside. The wards crackle around him, protesting against the vile intrusion. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but speaking to the Minister for Magic and setting what has been done straight as soon as possible. People around him give surprised yelps as he so impudently appears in their midst. After all, Apparating within the Ministry or on-or-off Ministry ground has been impossible ever since the demise of Voldemort, and even before that only licenced people could do it.

Harry takes a quick look around, notes the surprised looks and starts walking towards security. The man behind the desk seems very young. His shoulders are hunched in what seems to be almost a permanent shrug, and when Harry approaches him he ducks his head. Harry shoots the lad a dangerous look when he is asked for the registration of his wand and stalks right past him. 

When he reaches the lifts they are filled completely with people. However, Harry doesn’t feel like he has time to waste and pulls a man in dark purple robes out of one of them. The man starts to protest, but stops when he sees Harry’s scar. 

“Mister Potter,” he starts, surprise and shock evident in his voice. The rest of his sentence gets muffled as the doors of the lift violently close on them. An awkward silence hangs in the air as they slowly go down the shaft. Harry cocks his head sideways a couple of times and manages to crack his neck twice. He is angry. 

As he stalks towards the Minister’s office a set of two Aurors try to stop him. One of them is older, probably mid thirties, and has an ashen kind of short, blond hair. His robes fit him well and his stance is secure, emitting an aura of authority. The other Auror is smaller, probably only a trainee, has dark brown curly hair and is wearing robes that are at least one size too big on him. 

“Halt!” the older of the two calls out as Harry walks right past them. He doesn’t pay the two any attention until he hears the start of the chant for a stunning curse. Harry whirls around, wand at the ready, and blocks the curse without too much trouble. 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he calls out and disarms both of the Aurors facing him at the same time. As he gives them a small salute with their wands, he turns back around and continues his way down to the Minister’s office. 

When he enters the oval office the Minister is working at his desk. Harry moves towards it and angrily slams both his hands down onto it. 

Unimpressed, the Minister looks Harry straight in the eye, causing Harry to have to swallow away the sudden unexplainable feeling of nausea. “And what can I do for you today, Mister Potter?” he asks. 

Harry is fuming now. How dare the man be so calm! “I don’t know _what_ you were thinking,” he says, voice raised and nostrils flared, “but you undo what you did _right now_!” 

“Take a seat.” The Minister’s calm tone does nothing to ease Harry’s anger and so he refuses. Instead, he raises himself back up, back straight and eyes looking down at the man in front of him. 

“If you think you can intimidate me, you are mistaken,” the Minister says. “Now what exactly can I help you with?” 

Harry gives the man another once over. Minister Cyneric had taken Kingsley’s place after the last elections. Harry has always thought of him as a somewhat peculiar man, and even now the presence of the man has small shivers run down his spine. There is just something off about him, something Harry can’t quite place. It’s almost as if he’d seen the man before somewhere. 

“It’s about my husband,” Harry says and, when Cyneric doesn’t respond, adds: “Draco Malfoy.” Harry takes a deep breath to calm himself down just enough to speak to the Minister in a calm and clear tone. “He was cleared of _all_ charges roughly five years ago. Today, a group of _your_ Aurors came marching in our home with the news that he was once again convicted of Death Eater practices.” 

Cyneric nods but doesn’t say anything, so Harry continues. “I want this solved. I want the conviction reversed.” 

“Take a seat, Mister Potter,” the Minister repeats while directing his hand at the chair on Harry’s side of the desk. This time Harry obeys, hoping it will at least favor him in getting this problem solved. 

Now the Minister stands up and Harry curses inwardly, Auror lesson number _one_ : _never_ give your opponent the idea they are in a more powerful position than you. “You might not be aware,” Cyneric starts, “but for the past year or so the Ministry has been going over so-called ‘cold cases’. Cases the last Minister deemed…” Cyneric pauses for a moment. “ _Unsolvable_.” 

Harry cocks an eyebrow at the man. Draco’s case hadn’t been unsolvable, it had been dismissed. 

“Ah,” Cyneric continues. “I know what you’re thinking, Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy’s case was indeed not necessarily unsolvable. _However_...” Harry sees him look him up and down once, giving him the chills. There is just something about this man… “the only reason Mister Malfoy was cleared of all charges was because of lack of substantial proof. Proof that has now been found.” 

“Okay,” Harry says, “then I’d like to see such proof.” 

“Ah, but here’s the problem with that.” Cyneric smiles a toothy grin.”You gave up that right when you resigned your position as an Auror, Mister Potter.”

*

The house is warm and inviting when Harry comes home. The fires are lit, probably by Pip, and there’s a nice melody playing on the wireless. Harry steps out of the fireplace and makes his way through the sitting room area into the hallway. A soft humming in Latin can be heard from upstairs and Harry sighs in relief; at least the Healer is already working on Draco.

The first thing Harry had done when the Auror squad had left was Floo for Hermione. Draco had been unconscious and, unable to wake him up, Harry had panicked. Hermione had wasted no time and had come over straight away, promising Harry to get in touch with a Healer as fast as she could while Harry Apparated away loudly. 

When Harry enters their bedroom the Healer looks up and puts his wand down on one of the bedside tables. 

“And?” Harry asks worriedly as he shakes the Healer’s hand. He’s seen the man plenty of time before at St Mungo’s. He is a kind man, around his forties, with dark skin and even darker hair. 

“He hasn’t shown any other signs of life yet,” Healer August says. Harry chokes, his eyes darting from the limp body of his husband to the Healer and back. “Not to worry, Mister Potter,” August smiles and reaches out for him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “His body is in shock. With time and rest he’ll be absolutely fine.” 

Harry nods. “And the spell?” he asks. 

“Only time will tell what the exact effects are.” August’s face is grim. Dropping his hand from Harry’s shoulder he picks up his wand and casts a nonverbal spell on Draco. Several areas on his body begin to glow instantly. 

August hovers his hand over one of the brighter spots. “The magical currents within his body are moving and weak,” he says, proceeding further down, “and they all seem to be aiming directly towards where Mister Malfoy was hit with the curse.” He flicks his wand and lifts the spell, making the room dim down instantly. “There is really no telling what the end result will be, I’m afraid, Mister Potter. 

As the Healer leaves Harry lets himself fall into the big and comfortable chair next to the bed. He closes his eyes and sighs, rubbing his hands over his tired face. 

“Oh Draco…”

*

“How is he doing?” The words have left her mouth before she’s even properly stepped out of the fireplace. She dusts herself off gracefully and hands her cloak to Pip.

“Thank yous Mistress ma’am,” Pip squeaks before running off to put the silky garment away. 

Narcissa ignores the elf and stares at Harry, who notices for the first time how old she’s really started to look. 

“We don’t know,” he says and holds up his hand when he sees Narcissa is about to say something. “Let me finish, Mistress Malfoy.” Staying calm is hard. Preferably Harry would be slamming a certain Minister and Head Auror against a few walls or more, but as that isn’t going to help his case any, he decided staying calm was the best way to go for both him and Draco. The one person who needs him most right now. 

“Healer August was here yesterday and according to his findings, Draco will be fine. We just don’t know in what way yet.” 

Narcissa raises her chin defiantly, eyes blazing, reminding Harry that she is not only his husband’s caring mother, but also still a Black by blood and Malfoy by marriage. The one Malfoy who stood against Voldemort’s will and spilled his plans to another man, at that. 

“And who exactly were the men who did this to my son?” She almost spits the words in disgust. “I have a right to know. Draco-”

“Needs us by his side,” Harry interrupts. He sees Narcissa blink rapidly a couple of times, mouth set in a grim line, probably not used to people cutting her off like that. Sitting down in a huff, she crosses her legs ever so elegantly. “Then at least come to the Manor with me,” she says, hands folded in her lap. “He’ll have more room there and infinite resources in potions and Healers. We only have the best of the best, of course.” 

Harry sighs inwardly, he’d been expecting this request. “I’d rather have him stay here with me,” he says and quickly adds: “At least for now. But I’ll ask him what _he_ prefers when he wakes.” 

“ _If_ he wakes,” Narcissa says quietly. 

“ _When_ he wakes. I have the fullest confidence in Healer August,” Harry answers. 

They sit in absolute silence for a while, the only sound the flames crackling in the big, white marble fireplace. Harry tries to imagine how hard it must be for her - husband in Azkaban for life, her son’s life uncertain and her own future unclear - but fails. The only thing he is capable of feeling right now is his worry for Draco and his anger towards the Ministry. 

In the end, it is Harry who breaks the quiet. “Have you heard anything from the Ministry yet?” he asks. 

Narcissa shakes her head calmly, eyes on an invisible spot on the far end wall, before looking over at Harry. “No. But neither you nor my son had any warning beforehand either, had you?” 

Harry doesn’t say anything as the answer to her question is obvious. 

“In any way, it would be unnecessary,” she continues. “As far as the Ministry is concerned, I’m safely in my family’s chateau in France.” A small smile plays on her lips. “I am safe. For now.” 

Harry nods, but before he can say any more the fireplace starts blazing again and Hermione steps through. At first she sees only Harry and is about the speak until her eyes find Narcissa’s. 

Both women stare at each other for a moment, neither party unwilling to break contact before the other one does. Hermione looks pale, fists clenched tightly. It might’ve been years, but she still can’t be in the same room as Narcissa Malfoy, memories of the war and the Manor still fresh on her mind. Narcissa on the other hand looks rather calm, and a bit solemn. 

“I should leave,” she says as she gets up. Pip immediately comes running in with Narcissa’s cloak. Again not acknowledging the tiny creature, she puts it on and walks towards the fireplace. “Thank you for your time, Harry,” she says before disappearing in the flames. “Take good care of my son.” 

Hermione opens the bag she’s carrying right away, taking out a set of ten books or so. “I’ve been going over and through every document and book I could find considering Wizarding Law,” she says. “But there’s nothing we can do to the Ministry. They have every right to go over these so-called ‘cold cases’.” 

Harry rakes a hand through his hair, making it stand up in some places before shaking his head. “They can’t do this,” he protests. “They can’t just re-open old cases because they’re not agreeing with the old Wizagamot’s verdict!” 

“And that’s _exactly_ the problem,” she says. “Draco was never cleared, nor voted an innocent man. His case was dismissed due to lack of substantial proof from either side.” She pauses to let this information sink in. “Harry, his case was never closed.”

*

The big clock above the mantelpiece chimes eleven times as Healer August arrives through the Floo. He dusts off his cloak a bit before taking it off and handing it to Pip. Harry closes one of the many Wizarding Law books he has open on the table and sighs.

“Anything so far?” the Healer asks him. By now they’ve turned into questions of formality, as they both know Harry is unable to find anything and probably never will. 

Harry shakes his head. “It all seems perfectly legal what they’re doing, Emanuel.” 

The Healer nods solemnly. “It is what I feared,” he says and walks towards the hallway to go up and see Draco. As he passes Harry he stops and softly lays his big hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing once. “It’ll be okay, son.” 

When Emanuel has left the room Harry sits back down heavily in his chair. It is time to hire somebody with a little more knowledge. Maybe that’ll get them somewhere.

*

“Draco!” Harry jumps up out of his chair as his husband walks, somewhat shakily, into the kitchen. Draco’s hair is a mess and he’s as pale as a ghost but he’s awake and walking - a huge relief to Harry who’d started to fear he might never wake up. Harry walks around the table and engulfs Draco in one of the tightest hugs he’s ever got.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks after he’s finally let go of Draco. 

Draco blinks first a couple of times before swallowing hard and smiling a weak smile with empty, watery eyes. “‘m fine,” he says. 

Harry’s heart breaks, but as Draco obviously doesn’t want to talk about it now he lets it go. “Can I get Pip to get you anything?” he asks instead, but Draco just shakes his head and sits down at the table, giving the man already sitting there an odd look over. 

“Let me introduce myself,” the man says as Harry sits back down opposite of him. “My name’s Godwin, attorney Godwin, but you may call me Gregory.” He holds out his hand for Draco to shake but when Draco doesn’t move, slides his index finger into the collar of his shirt, tugging nervously at it, before continuing awkwardly. “I have been going over your case for the past few days with Harry here and-”

“Oh,” Draco says. “ _Harry_ , is it?” He raises his eyebrows curiously at his husband. 

Harry bites his tongue and closes his eyes for a second to keep himself calm. Draco’s jealous streak has always been something he finds hard to deal with, but just like Draco’s earlier comment he lets it slide for now. 

“And Gregory here thinks we best take another close look at the new evidence the Ministry has suddenly found against you,” Harry says. 

“Exactly,” Gregory adds. “The only way to reverse what has been done is to see if it is indeed valid evidence or not. I heard you were not present at the trial itself?” 

Draco shakes his head calmly, still staring the man down. 

“Right.” Godwin clears his throat. “And were you notified such a trial was in progress at the time?” 

Once again Draco doesn’t answer and only raises a single eyebrow. 

The attorney looks from Harry to Draco and back before quickly writing something down on the parchment in front of him. “Interesting,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and stares at the wall for a while, lost in thought. 

“So, I am assuming here neither of you saw _any_ of the newly found evidence?” 

Harry sees Draco roll his eyes, a snide comment probably already on his lips, and cuts in. “We haven’t. We wouldn’t even know what it is they’ve found.” 

Gregory nods. “Very promising,” he says. “You see, if we can somehow prove that the evidence is, in fact, _not_ valid, then they’ll once again have to dismiss the case.” 

“Ending us right back where we started,” Draco says now, leaning in and letting his arms rest on the table in front of him. “We got in this mess in the first place _because_ my case was, _apparently_...” He glances at Harry, “dismissed. They’ll just reopen it again.” 

“And that is where you are wrong,” Godwin says with a smug smile. “Not only can evidence never be re-used after falsification, the Wizengamot will have to come up with proof for themselves as to not only get Draco’s case dismissed, but to prevent him from being cleared of all charges. Standard procedure.” He leans back in his chair. 

“All charges?” Draco says, leaning in, interest piqued. 

“ _All_ charges,” Godwin answers.

*

Harry comes walking down the stairs when he hears a loud crash in the sitting room area.

“Draco!” he calls out as he rushes down the stairs, jumps off the the last couple of steps and sprints into the room. 

Entering, he finds Draco frozen and dumbfoundedly staring at the remains of a mug of tea on their hard wooden floor. 

“What happened?” Harry asks as he walks over to his husband, whips out his wand and vanishes the shards and cold liquid away. 

“I just wanted to make it hover,” Draco says, voice small, “while grabbing a book.” He holds out the book as if to show him he isn’t lying. “And it just fell.” He looks back up at Harry now, eyes big and eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “It just fell,” he repeats. “Just… fell.” 

Draco’s breathing quickens as panic rises in his throat. He closes his eyes and Harry sees he is trying to calm himself down but losing the battle with what he imagines must be the memories of what happened with the Aurors. Harry steps closer and wraps his arms around his husband. “It’ll be alright,” he chants. “Everything will be alright.” 

As they sit down for tea later that day, a big tawny owl taps its beak against the window impatiently. Harry sees Draco get up, but stops him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll get it,” he says. “It’s probably a letter from Gregory.” He opens the windows and a cold breeze comes in, making him shiver. “He told me he would get in touch the moment he’d find something,” he says and gives the owl a small treat before quickly closing the window again. “I guess he did.” He waves the envelope a couple of times before sitting back down and opening it. 

The letter is short and simple, written on a ripped off piece of paper rather than official letter parchment, the handwriting hasty and almost illegible. 

“He says there’s something majorly wrong with the evidence,” Harry says. “He went to investigate, but ensures us it’s great news and will stop by tomorrow afternoon.” 

“That’s all?” Draco says, copying Harry’s confusion.

Harry nods and folds the bit of parchment back up. “I guess we’ll have to wait for tomorrow.”

*

Harry scrunches his brow as he stares at an invisible spot on the wall, fork in mid-air and mashed potatoes slowly falling off it.

“Care to share?” Draco says and puts a forkful of his own mashed potatoes in his mouth. 

Harry hums under his breath once before tearing his gaze away from the wall and shaking his head a couple of times. “Just wondering what he could’ve found, ‘s’all,” he says while putting his fork back down for a new bite. He pokes away at his vegetables before looking back up at Draco. “Are you sure you don’t have _any_ idea?” 

To his amazement Draco slams his fork down on the table, throws the napkin from his lap on his plate and gets up. “I’m done here,” he says before storming off. 

“Draco!” Harry calls out after him, hastily putting his own napkin down as well and following his husband’s footsteps up into the bedroom. Draco is pacing, hands clenched tightly into fists and face dark. 

Harry hovers in the doorway for a while, waiting for Draco to spot him, but is ignored. 

“Draco- “ 

“No,” Draco interrupts, turning towards Harry. “You think you’re helping, but you’re really not, you know that?” 

Harry opens his mouth to respond but Draco cuts him off before he’s even had the chance to start talking. 

“Do _you_ think I know what he possibly could’ve found as evidence against me? Because if I do I might as well confess to the whole thing right now!” he says, angrily throwing his arms up in the air and raking his hands through his hair. 

“Draco I wasn’t -” Harry starts.

“YES YOU WERE!” Draco screams. “It’s been like this _all_ day _and_ yesterday since that _bloody_ letter arrived.” He huffs disdainfully. “Draco, do you know what this could be? Draco, do you have any idea? Draco, think, what could he have found? Well, I don’t _know_ what it could’ve been, Harry, but obviously _you_ think I do!” 

He spreads his arms as if to make a point, knocking over a vase filled with flowers from the dresser in the process. Before either of them can react it has fallen onto the ground and shattered into a million pieces. Draco curses, holds out his hand and falls completely still. 

Harry, wand already in hand to fix the vase, realises only a second too late what it was that his husband was trying to do. He walks over to Draco and softly puts his hand on his back. Draco looks pale, almost sickly so, mouth set into a firm grim. Harry opens his mouth to say something and sees Draco clench his open hand back into a fist, turning his head away from him. After giving Draco a reassuring pat on the back, Harry nods once and leaves the room. 

As he gets back into the kitchen Pip hurriedly comes up to him. “Is Master Draco sir going to bees okay, sir?” she asks, concern clear in her voice, eyes big and round as she stares up at Harry. 

Harry kneels down and pats her on the head. “He’ll be okay,” he says as he ruffles her ears. She scrunches up her eyes and lets out a soft giggle. “And Mister Harry Potter sir? Can Pip do anything to makes him feels better?” 

“No, that’s quite alright, Pip,” Harry says and stands back up. Before he’s out of the room he turns back around. “On second thought,” he says and sees Pip already starting to nod, making him smile. The eager house-elf she is, she’s always trying to find ways to make her owners feel at home. Or well, employers, that should be, as Pip is always wearing clothes of the most expensive brands and highest couture, Draco would see to that. Right now she’s wearing a soft yellow and white ruffled dress with a big bow around her neck, tied in front. Harry had laughed the first time Draco had showed it to him, convinced he’d just robbed a doll shop from the eighteen hundreds, but Pip had fallen in love with it at first sight. This meant that, technically, she was a free elf, even _when_ she wasn’t accepting any payment other than pretty dresses, ruffled socks and shoes so polished Harry could almost use them as a mirror. 

“I’ll do the dishes tonight.” He sees her look at him in confusion. “It’ll give me something to keep me distracted with for now.”

*

Harry jumps as the clock strikes midnight. After the dishes he’d laid down on the big sofa in the library and had closed his eyes for just a minute, which had turned out to be closer to a few hours. He blinks and stretches, looking around for Pip or Draco. When neither of them seem to be around he calls for the house-elf.

“Did anybody Floo in while I was sleeping?” he asks her when she pops into the room. 

Pip shakes her head, making her ears flop around. “No. Was sir expecting somebody?” 

Harry looks back at the clock, checking the time again. It really is midnight. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, trying to think. “I,” he starts but pauses and looks back at the elf. “Yes, but it’s okay.” He smiles at her. “I’ll be going to bed now, Pip, can you take care of the candles?” 

“Of course, Mister Harry Potter sir!” she happily squeaks. “Good night!” 

“Good night, Pip.” 

When Harry enters the bedroom Draco is already in bed with the lights turned off. When he carefully lifts the covers and gets, into the bed Harry feels Draco’s body stiffen next to him. He waits for him to turn and say something, but when nothing happens, Harry decides to leave him be for now. 

He places a soft kiss on Draco’s shoulder as he lies down and closes his eyes, deciding he’ll Floo Godwin in the morning.

*

When Harry opens his eyes the next morning he notices that the other half of the bed is already empty. He stretches, tiredly rubs his hands over his face and gets out of bed. Tying his dressing gown on the way down, he hears somebody rummage in the library. He takes a few steps towards the sound before he hears Draco curse loudly. That convinces him it’s probably a better idea to leave the library alone right now and turns to go make them a nice cup of hot tea before trying.

Entering the library, now with a tray containing a big teapot filled with cinnamon-apple tea and two cups, he notices Draco propped up against one of the many bookshelves, reading a big, dusty, leather-bound book. As the light of the morning sun comes in through one of the bigger windows it hits Draco, revealing the odd shimmer that is the spell. Harry notes to himself that, however ironic it might be, it looks rather beautiful. 

“Hey,” he says as he sits down in front of Draco and hands him one of the cups. 

Draco looks up at him and gives Harry a small smile as he accepts the tea. “Hi.” 

“Wait,” Harry says as he sees Draco carefully raise the cup to his lips. Taking out his wand, he casts a soft cooling charm on it, just enough to make it drinkable, getting a soft ‘thank you’ from Draco. 

“So what are you reading?” Harry tries, happy that Draco has apparently calmed down enough to not feel the urge to start yelling at him again. 

Draco shrugs. “Just some magic things,” he says as he pushes the book away from Harry, who reaches over and grabs it anyway. Draco lets his head fall back against the bookcase and closes his eyes with a sigh. 

“You make it very hard for me not to strangle you,” he mumbles, and Harry laughs softly in response. 

However, that laugh quickly disappears as he looks down at the title and reads _Squibs and Magic: How, What and Why? by Elina Burstrow_. Harry swallows audibly and puts the book back where Draco had pushed it to. 

“It’ll be alright,” he says softly, and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s talking to Draco or himself. 

Draco doesn’t seem to notice and opens his eyes again. “You think?” he asks and, not waiting for an answer, continues, “I don’t exactly have a lot of faith in your Godwin friend.” 

Harry takes a sip from his tea before answering. “You just don’t like him,” he says. “And you’re not exactly keeping an open mind towards him.” 

“It’s not him, Harry,” Draco says. “Well, maybe a bit.” Harry smiles into his cup. “But let’s face it: I might be Harry Potter’s husband, but above anything else I am and will always be a Malfoy in the eyes of the Ministry.” 

“Draco,” Harry begins but hesitates, not sure what to say. 

“Let’s not argue. At least not for today,” Draco says and Harry nods. “What did he say?” 

“He didn’t show,” Harry says and, when Draco cocks an eyebrow at him quickly adds, “I was on my way to Floo him when I heard you in here.” 

“I wonder what kind of excuse he’ll have,” Draco muses as he picks his book back up. 

“I’m not sure,” Harry says and puts his hand on the book’s cover, preventing Draco from opening it. “But I’m sure it’ll be valid.” He pushes his hand down firmer when he feels Draco trying to open it anyway. “I trust him Draco,” he continues. “And I suggest you try to do the same. Now, don’t read things you shouldn’t be reading and I’ll be right back.” 

“Hmf,” is the only response Harry gets as he gives him a quick kiss on the forehead before getting up and leaving the room. 

Roughly ten minutes later, Harry sits back on his heels and closes the Floo with a swish of his hand. As the green flames turn back into their red and orangy state he sighs, letting his head hang for a while. Neither Godwin nor his house-elf are answering his calls. Worry is slowly creeping up on him; what could’ve caused his sudden absence? 

“He didn’t answer,” he says as he sees Draco look up hopefully when he re-enters the library. He closes the double doors behind him softly as Draco rakes a hand through his hair, and then another, turning towards the window. Immediately the curse around his neck starts to shimmer again. Harry walks towards him and, kneeling down, softly strokes the line with his fingers. 

“It really is quite beautiful, you know,” he says, giving his husband a small smile. 

“Beautiful?!” Draco says. “Well, lucky me, then. I might not have my magic anymore, but at least I’m _beautiful_. Thank you Harry.” He closes his book and Harry notices the tremor in his hands. 

“Since when are you hands shaking?” Harry asks and drops his own. 

“Huh?” Draco says before looking down. “Oh.” He shakes his head quickly. “It’s nothing, they’ve been like that for a couple of days now. Probably just the stress.” 

Harry scowls but says nothing. 

“I’m going to see Hermione for a bit, care to join me?” he asks after a while. 

“No, thanks,” Draco answers, clenching his hands in a futile attempt to make the shaking appear a little less. 

“You’ll be okay on your own then?” 

Draco nods and stares out of the window again, avoiding Harry’s eyes. 

“Okay then,” Harry says and after softly squeezing Draco’s shoulder, gets up and leaves. 

When he closes the library doors behind him once more, he pretends he doesn’t hear a heavy book being slammed against one of the bookshelves.

*

Closing Godwin’s letter for the hundredth time, Harry wonders about the big news the man had for them, and what happened to him. He decides to send Godwin’s office a letter, and leaves to find Layla, Draco’s owl.

*

“Can we go shopping today?” Draco asks as he comes into the kitchen. He grabs Harry’s cup of tea from the table and sits down, sipping. “Perfect temperature,” he says as he sees Harry’s raised eyebrows.

Swallowing his food, Harry grabs his teacup back from him. “You seem happy,” he says after emptying the cup. 

“I had a good night’s rest,” Draco says. “Plus, it’s about time Pip gets some new dresses, don’t you think?” 

Harry smiles at him. It’s good to see some of the old Draco shine back through. “Want something to eat first? Pip’s made plenty.” 

Draco gives the food on the table a once over before swallowing audibly and shaking his head. 

Scowling, Harry wants to say something, ask if he’s okay, but decides against it. If it were him losing his magic, he’d probably lose his appetite as well. 

The first thing he notices as they Apparate to Diagon Alley are the carols. There are groups of singing people moving around and about everywhere. Some are standing still on corners, enchanted snow eternally falling on to their heads, covering them in a white coat. There are bells, too, and every kind of Christmas decoration one could possibly think of. Not one shop has gone undecorated, making Harry grin widely. 

Seeing Draco roll his eyes at him he throws an arm around his shoulders. “Oh come on, it’s Christmas!” Harry says happily as he starts dragging Draco deeper into the street. “Where did you want to go first?” 

Several shops and plenty of spent Galleons later Harry and Draco make their way over to their last destination, Eeylops Owl Emporium, when a broad shouldered man steps in between them and the door. Harry, walking in front of Draco, nearly bumps into him and splutters, “Excuse me, we were trying to get in.” 

The man huffs once, giving off the feeling of a large horse, and crosses his arms, staring at Draco. Harry, who missed Draco stare in shock at the windowsill of the shop, protests, but the man simply points at the posters of the ‘newly convicted’ Death Eaters who aren’t welcome in the shop. Harry recognises Nott, Macnair and Yaxley. His nostrils flare when he sees the picture of Draco at the bottom, looking up at the snarling faces of the others as if he can’t remember why he’s there. 

Harry whips out his wand and turns back to the large man, who pales and backs up a step or two, but he is stopped by Draco’s hand on his arm when he wants to raise it further. “Leave it,” he hears him whisper. “Just.. let’s go home.” A pause. “Please.” 

Harry shoots the man a last nasty look before turning, engulfing Draco in a tight hug and Apparating them back home. 

Upon arrival Draco immediately turns and stalks into the library, closing the door and locking it behind him. Harry, calling out for him, goes ignored and after a good ten minutes of knocking and pleading, he gives up. Preferably, he’d blast the door in with his wand, but given the current circumstances, he figures that would only make things worse than they already are.

*

By the time the big clock in the sitting room strikes nine, Harry’s had enough. He had called out for Draco when he’d made dinner, and had been ignored. He’d then made tea and had got no answer, either. He understands that it’s been a rough day for Draco, but sitting and moping around won’t do anybody any good and quite frankly, it’s making Harry feel terribly helpless himself.

As he walks up to the library’s double doors he takes out his wand. “Draco, open these doors or I’ll open them for you,” he calls out and waits. After several minutes have passed he raises his wand at one of the doors, getting ready for a blast, not patient enough for a calm _Alohomora_ spell. “Draco…” he warns and, when he gets no answer, swishes his wand once and blasts the doors in. 

He gasps and screams as his vision clears - Draco is lying in the middle of the room on the ground - unconscious. 

“Draco!” he yells as he rushes towards him. Draco is shaking all over and, as Harry sees when he casts a couple of basic healing spells, appears to be running a dangerously high fever. Wasting no time Harry raises his wand once more and casts a Patronus Charm for Healer August, telling him to Apparate to their house as soon as possible. 

Just as Harry opens the wards on the house the Healer appears, immediately falling onto his knees next to Draco. As Harry tells August everything that happened that day, he watches the man run some basic tests, his scowl deepening every time he casts another charm or spell. 

“We have no time to lose,” August finally says as he lifts Draco onto the stretcher he summoned. “Meet me at St Mungo’s,” he instructs before quickly Disapparating. 

Harry stands there for a while before following the Healer. Shocked, lost and shaking, guilt eating away at him. He should’ve known Draco wouldn’t ignore him without reason! Angrily raking his hands through his hair, he pulls at it and cries out in despair. 

St Mungo’s is bustling with people as Harry makes his way over to the counter. Under many a protest he skips the line and quickly asks for the room Draco has been brought to. The witch behind the counter, probably not older than 30, responds shocked. Doubt visible in her eyes whether to send him back to the end of the line or to help Harry Potter, she decides on the latter and gives him Draco’s room number and floor. 

Rushing into the room he sees several Healers and Mediwizards feverishly chant and work around Draco. As Harry tries to step closer to him one of the Mediwizards breaks free of the group and escorts him back out. 

“There’s nothing you can do for him now, Mister Potter,” the man says. “We are doing our best.” He lets his hand rest on Harry’s shoulder for a moment before turning and going back into the room, closing the door behind him again. 

Harry feels like a broken man. Never has he felt so powerless, not even when Voldemort had taken control of the Wizarding World. At least then he knew what to do, what was expected of him. Having already sat in every position he remembers ever sitting in, he has now taken to feverishly pacing the waiting room. Whenever a Healer or any other medical staff pass through the room he’ll look up, hoping they have news, hoping that everything will be okay with Draco, but it’s never for him. Not even sparing him as much as a second glance, they’ll come in, call out for the the person they need, and leave again. 

When he’s finally able to get a hold of one of the Mediwizards running around the place, he asks if he’s allowed to use the Floo network and when he gets permission, he Floos Ron and Hermione. 

“Oh Harry,” Hermione says when they see him. She walks up to him and hugs him tight. 

“Mate,” Ron says quietly, face as sickly pale as Harry feels. 

“What happened?” Hermione asks. “Was it the spell?” 

Harry shrugs and swallows, trying to fight back the tears, and takes a deep breath. He shakes his head a couple of times and fixes his gaze firmly on the opposite wall of the room. “I’m not sure,” he manages to choke out. “One moment we’re in Diagon Alley buying Christmas presents, and the next he is lying on the library floor. Just...” Harry looks up, blinking away the tears.

“What about Godwin?” Hermione asks then, sitting him down. “Heard anything from him yet?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing. Sent a letter to the bureau he works for, but they haven’t sent Layla back yet.”

Hermione scowls and gets up. “I’ll be right back,” she says before disappearing around the corner. 

“Still haven’t got used to that,” Ron says as a way to cheer him up. “Always bouncing around, that one, and never bothers to tell me what’s going on in that head of hers.” 

Harry smiles. It’s a wry smile, but at least his mate is trying. “Yeah,” he says before staring at the wall again. 

As they sit in silence an elderly Healer heads their way. His hair is grey, his eyes almost as green as Harry’s, his beard short but curly. 

“Healer Midgea,” the man introduces himself with a thick Scottish accent. “You must be Harry Potter.” 

Harry shakes the Healer’s hand and nods. 

“Any news?” Ron asks as he shakes Healer Midgea’s hand in his turn. “Ron Weasley,” he adds. 

The man nods once. “Yes, if you’d come with me, please?” He turns, expecting Harry and Ron to follow him out. 

Healer Midgea’s office is airy, with a sandy coloured wooden floor, one wall of the room only consisting of a big window looking out over a flowery garden. 

“Mister Malfoy is showing signs of an addiction,” Midgea says and holds up his hand when he sees Harry opening his mouth. “We’ve found the curse, Mister Potter, and yes, we know it is the cause.” 

Harry closes his mouth again, nodding. 

“We think Mister Malfoy’s body is responding badly to the sudden absence of his magic,” the Healer says. “And we were wondering if your husband has shown earlier signs of withdrawal?” 

Harry has to think for a moment, but soon enough remembers Draco’s hands. “His hands were shaking, yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t-”

“And you couldn’t have,” the Healer interrupts. “Not even we knew this could happen, however, now that we’ve seen it, it does seem rather logical, _and_ ,” he adds when he sees Harry wanting to interrupt him, “we are doing everything within our power to get Mister Malfoy walking again.” 

“So, what now?” Ron asks. 

“Well, we’ve put him in a Magic-Induced Coma, or a MIC, as we usually call it.” When Healer Midgea sees the confused looks of the men he continues, “It is a coma in which we give the patient’s body bursts of magic every couple of hours to keep it stable. The curse the Ministry has put on your husband, Mister Potter, will suck that magic up as it did with his, but for now it’ll make him survive.” 

“Barely,” Harry says softly before sighing. “Thank you,” he adds. “For everything.” 

“It is our job to save lives, Mister Potter.” Midgea smiles. “But you are very, very welcome.”

*

“I want to do it,” Harry says the moment he enters Healer Midgea’s office the next morning. “Emanuel,” Harry says and nods in recognition as he sees the darker man sit across from Midgea.

The Healer doesn’t speak and shuffles around in his papers before looking up at Harry. “Once Mister Malfoy’s body has got used to a certain person’s magic, there’s no other to do it but them,” he says. “It is a _very_ taxing procedure, Mister Potter, one that will not be easy on your body _or_ your own magical abilities.” 

Harry looks at the man and takes a deep breath. “Show me how.” 

“Very well,” Midgea says as he gets up. “Follow me, then.”

*

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Harry enters Draco’s room. It’s dark, save for the two lone candles on Draco’s bedside table. Harry walks over to his husband and carefully lays a hand on his arm.

“And it doesn’t matter where I touch or what I hold?” he asks Midgea. 

The Healer shakes his head. “Not in the least. However, I would stay away from the neck area, for now.” 

Harry nods and licks his lips slowly, thinking. “You said the chances of his body accepting my magic are bigger,” he says and looks the Healer in the eye. “But you didn’t tell me until I offered to be part of the procedure myself.”

“Correct,” Midgea answers as he puts away the chart he had been observing. “Like I warned you before, Mister Potter, this procedure is a serious one and often… often family or friends will feel compelled to help, without being ready to.” He whips out his wand and casts a nonverbal spell over Draco. 

“Just a status check,” he says when he sees Harry eye him questioningly. “Now, let’s begin.”

Harry moves his hand over to Draco’s gripping it tightly as he feels another burst of magic leave him and enter Draco. The sensation is odd, but welcome, because with every single burst, Draco’s breathing becomes just that bit steadier. 

Harry looks at the clock and counts down the last two bursts. As he slowly untangles their fingers and puts a strand of hair back behind his husband’s ear, he hears a soft knock on the door. 

“Hermione,” he says as he looks up. “Come in.” 

She smiles at him. “You look better,” she says as she hugs him. “Good to see.” 

Harry smiles back. “Knowing there’s something I can do for him makes it easier, I suppose,” he says as he puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs his shoulders. “Found anything?” 

“You better sit down,” she says and shoots a worried look towards Draco. “Let’s go somewhere else.” 

Following Hermione’s gaze from Draco back to her, he nods and follows her out. They walk back into the waiting room he had spent hours in the other day. An uneasy feeling settles in his stomach, but he shakes it off and sits down in one of the chairs. Hermione sits down next to him, putting down her purse, and takes out a file containing several official looking forms. 

“I went to the Attorney’s office Godwin works for,” she says as she opens the file. “They say they’ve never even heard of a man with that name. Of _course_ I didn’t believe them, so I went to the Ministry’s registration office for Attorneys, and there’s not a single mention of a Gregory Godwin in there either.” She hands him the file. Shuffling through it and scanning the names, Harry sees she’s right. He blinks, not sure what to say, and nervously rakes a hand through his hair. 

“And these are the names of all registered Attorneys in Britain over the past 50 years?” he asks, eyebrows raised, already knowing the answer but still wanting to make sure. After all, the documents in his hands clearly state the years. 

Hermione nods. “And as Godwin was not even near 50, it is almost like he’s vanished.” She scowls at a point behind Harry for a second and bites her lip. “Luckily,” she continues, looking back at him, “I know a woman who might be willing to help us out. Her name is Victoria Ravensdale. She studied at the same university as I did.” 

Harry is slightly dumbfounded. “I guess… I mean… Thanks. thanks, Hermione,” he says as he gets up. “I’m going to get some rest now if you don’t mind.” 

“I take it the treatment is going well then?” she asks, picking up her purse and putting the documents back in it. 

Harry nods and rakes his hand through his hair again, making Hermione smile and try to pat it back down. “Yeah,” he says, “but Healer Midgea was right. It’s tiring.” He looks over and sees one of the fireplaces blaze green flames as another Healer walks out of it. “I think I’ll take the Floo network back home.” 

He looks over at Hermione. “If you come with I can give you what Godwin has found and shared with us so far.” 

“Good thinking,” she says. “Still got that note he sent you?” 

Harry nods. “Yeah, it’s… somewhere.” He shakes his head tiredly and yawns. Waving his hand dismissively, he says: “I’ll find it when we get home.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione says. “I’ll make sure to contact Victoria tonight.

*

“Mister Harry Potter, sir needs to wake up! Now, now!”

Harry groans and pushes the covers off himself. “What’s wrong, Pip?” he asks tiredly. Since he has to apply the bursts of magic to Draco every few hours, he’s been back and forth between St Mungo’s and his home several times already that day. Looking at the clock on his nightstand, he groans: three in the morning. 

“There is being a very important person in the Floo for you, saying that Pip needs to be getting Mister Harry Potter right now, right now!” she squeaks, bouncing from one foot to the other nervously. “Pip is worried Mister Draco Malfoy is not okay, Mister Harry Potter. The Mister is looking like a Healer a lot, Pip thinks.” 

Harry’s eyes go wide as he stares at Pip. “A Healer?” he chokes out, grabs his dressing robe and sprints down the stairs. “Thank you Pip, you did well!” he manages to yell at her as he runs through the hallway into the library.

Falling on his knees in front of the fire, he recognises Healer Midgea. The man looks worried and at least a decade older than he did some hours ago. “Healer Midgea!” Harry demands, “Is everything okay with Draco?” Fear strikes him as the man doesn’t answer right away, making his stomach turn and his heart skip a beat or two. 

“I’m afraid there are some complications,” Midgea says. “It would be better if you come over right away.” 

Harry stands up and ties his robe quickly, before wanting to step into the flames, only to be stopped by Healer Midgea’s voice. “Bring your wand, Mister Potter,” he says quietly before disappearing. “It might come in handy tonight.” 

Wand in hand, Harry rushes through the halls of the now almost empty ward and into Draco’s room, only to find none other than the Minister for Magic already waiting for him, accompanied by two rather intimidating Aurors. 

“Ah, Mister Potter,” the man says with an amused grin on his face. “I have some rather inconvenient news for you, I’m afraid.” A fake frown of sadness crosses his face. “As it turns out, your husband can no longer stay at St Mungo’s.”

“And why would that be, exactly?” Harry grits out between clenched teeth. 

“Well, St Mungo’s and by extension its Healers,” Cyneric gestures at Healer Midgea. who is wearing a grim expression and is staring straight into Harry’s eyes. “are off limits for any convicted felon with a danger rating above three-stars.” The Minister raises his eyebrows now. “In Mister Malfoy’s case, there are five.” The amused smile now returns. “I’m afraid he’ll have to leave the hospital, Mister Potter.” 

“I don’t think so,” Harry says defiantly. “He’s staying right here, in this hospital, in this room.”

Cyneric walks up to the door and puts a hand on his shoulder as he passes Harry for a brief moment. “If dear Draco isn’t gone by dawn he’ll be escorted to Azkaban,” he whispers, eyes twinkling, tongue flicking out.

“He’ll die,” Harry tries. “You can’t do this!” 

“Oh, but I can,” Cyneric says before patting Harry’s shoulder once and leaving, followed by his two Aurors. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do anything,” Midgea says as he sees Harry’s pleading look. He whips out his wand and ends the coma spell on Draco with a quick swish. “He should be fine without the forced sleep,” he says as he looks at Harry. “And don’t forget the bursts of magic. Six every two hours.” He pauses for a moment. “I’ll send an owl with my contact details at home, in case his condition deteriorates.” 

“Thank you,” Harry says before grabbing Draco’s hand to Disapparate. 

“Be careful, Harry,” Midgea says right before they pop away.

*

“Four,” Harry counts softly as he feels another burst leave his body. He Apparated Draco straight into their bedroom last night, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. Not daring to sleep without Draco being under the coma spell, he had stayed up all night, applying magic whenever Draco would stir or the shivers would worsen.

“Five,” he whispers and swallows, trying not to lose consciousness. The spell is wearing him out slowly, but the memory of what happened fuels his anger enough for him to stay awake. He clenches his teeth during the last burst. “Six,” he says and sighs, letting go of Draco’s hand and closing his eyes. 

When the Floo in the downstairs library erupts, Harry hears tiny swift footfalls on the stairs. “I got it, Pip,” he says as he pinches the bridge of his nose, scrunches his eyes shut and yawns loudly. “I got it,” he repeats, more to himself than anybody else. 

He gets up and stretches, making sure to check Draco’s temperature before he leaves the room. “Keep an eye on him, please,” Harry says to Pip before he walks down. “And make sure to warn me if anything changes.” 

Pip nods, her eyes big and sad. She’s wearing one of Draco’s favorite dresses for her, a dark green one with silver linings and a big ribbon on her back. He always said it matched her eyes, which are big and silver, too. 

As he enters the library he finds Hermione and a woman who he guesses must be Victoria already waiting for him. 

“Harry!” Hermione says, startled. “By Merlin, you look paler than Voldemort!” 

He hears Victoria choke at the mention of the name, but decides to ignore it and offers her his hand. “Harry Potter,” he says. “I’m very grateful you’re willing to help.” 

Victoria purses her lips. She’s tall and slender with a somewhat pointy chin and sharp cheekbones. Her hair is almost as pale of a blond as Draco’s, but her eyes are a warm hazel. She shakes his hand. “Attorney Ravensdale,” she says and Harry nods. “Officially, I am not allowed to offer help to any convicted felon with a rating above three-stars.” She eyes Harry for a moment before continuing. “but let’s say this’ll be a personal project of mine, one I’ll do outside office hours… as a friend.” She nods towards Hermione once. “And what I do in my private life has and will stay outside of the Ministry’s control.” She smiles a small smile. 

“However,” she cautions, voice stern now, “lets keep this between us. Godwin’s fate needn’t be mine, I think.” 

Harry agrees and leads both Victoria and Hermione out of the library and into the kitchen. “I asked Pip to stay with Draco so I’ll go make us some tea,” he says, but Hermione protests. 

“You two start the case, I’ll go make some. Where do you keep your bags?” 

Harry points towards one of the cupboards and sits down across from the attorney. 

“It’s a peculiar case,” she starts, softly shaking her head as she ruffles through the files she brought. “Very peculiar.” 

She grabs the envelope Godwin sent Harry and opens it again, unfolding the familiar note. “Especially this. Written hurriedly, sent by owl, no further contact…” Once again she purses her lips. “Do either of you have any idea what the evidence attorney Godwin mentions could be?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Not a clue. And neither does Draco,” he quickly adds when he sees her open her mouth. 

Victoria nods and strokes the paper with her hand, lost in thought. 

As Hermione puts down the steaming cups in front of them, she continues: “I take that it was Godwin who suggested the route of evidence?” 

“It was,” says Harry. “But both Draco and I agreed it was probably the best lead we have for now.” 

“Very well, then that’ll be where I’ll start,” she says and collects her files. “I’ll keep these with me for now, if you don’t mind.” When Harry shakes his head she puts them back in her purse and stands. “I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve found anything.” 

“Please,” Harry answers. 

“Be careful,” Hermione says quietly before Victoria leaves, then turns back to Harry, feeling his forehead. 

“I don’t have a fever, Hermione,” Harry says as he ducks away from her hand. “I’ve just been working on Draco a bit more than the Healers told me to. 

“A bit more?” Hermione asks skeptically and raises her eyebrows. 

Harry tells her about last night. “Kicked him out?!” she responds, baffled. “But they can’t do that, can they?” 

“Apparently, they can,” Harry says as he sips his tea. 

“I was wondering what you meant when you said you had Pip looking after him,” Hermione says. “Is that why you’re so pale, then?” 

Harry shrugs. “Just tired,” he says and smiles before taking another sip. 

“You know this could be dangerous, right?” Hermione says carefully, placing her hand on his arm and squeezing softly. “For you, for your own magic. What if you overdo it and cause something permanent?” 

Harry looks up at Hermione. The worry is clearly visible in her eyes, but he knows she understands like nobody else would except perhaps Ron. “Hermione, it’s the only thing left I can do for him…”

*

Days go by. The snow melts, the rain starts and as the Christmas lights get put away, a new year begins. Victoria comes by every other day, checking on Draco and updating Harry and Hermione about her findings, ideas and thoughts on Godwin’s notes.

“I’ve found Godwin’s lead,” she says. “Or so I think. I’m going to follow it and see where it takes me and what I’ll find.” 

Once again they are sitting in the kitchen, files and documents alike spread wide over the table, a second pot of tea already on the fire. 

“I’m almost sorry for making you into a detective,” Harry says. “But I’m happy I finally have some help.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Victoria says with a laugh. “This is kind of exciting.” She winks at him. “Plus, a chance to personally work with the great Harry Potter is not one I’ll let slip by easily, of course.” 

“Oh, shut up.” He smiles back at her and empties his cup. “Okay,” he says as he pushes the cup away from the files. “What’s next?”

*

“Hey there,” Harry says as Draco slowly blinks and opens his eyes. He grabs a strand of hair, moves it away from Draco’s forehead and plants a soft kiss on the damp skin.

Draco swallows once before slowly licking his lips, looking around the room in confusion. 

“You’ve been out for a while,” Harry says as he strokes Draco’s hair. “Found you lying on the floor of the library after our Christmas shopping.” He smiles a small smile. “Scared the magic right out of me.” 

Draco nods before speaking in a raspy voice. “I thought…” He stops and thinks. “I think I dreamt I was at St Mungo’s.” He tries to sit. 

Harry helps him up and props a pillow behind his back. “You were in St Mungo’s. For a while at least,” he says, avoiding Draco’s eyes as he fluffs the pillow beyond necessity. 

Draco opens his mouth, then closes it, and opens it again before speaking. “Then why am I here? I still feel like I’ve been put under the Cruciatus Curse for an hour or two.” 

Harry bites his lip in thought before answering. “I thought it would be better for both of us if you stayed here,” he says softly.

“Harry?” Draco asks, sounding insecure. “Why aren’t you looking at me?” 

When Harry focusses on the wall instead of him, Draco continues: “They kicked me out, didn’t they? They kicked me out of St. Mungo’s just like they refused me entrance at the Owl Emporium.” His voice is weak, but the despair in it evident enough to give Harry chills and make him cringe. Draco angrily wipes away at a tear. “It’s like the end of the war all over again.” 

“Draco, we _will_ get through this.” 

“Easily said for you,” Draco snaps. “You’re not the one without magic. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be unable to cast even the simplest spell? I’m nothing more than a cripple, a burden!” 

Harry groans. “You know, it wouldn’t _kill_ you to be positive for once! I’ve done _everything_ I could to help you!” 

“And that’s what exactly?” Draco asks. “Hold my hand while I sleep?” 

“You’re unbelievable!” Harry stands up and raises his voice. “If that’s not enough for you, then what are you still doing here?!” 

“We’re married, you insensitive arse!” Draco yells. 

Harry throws his arms in the air and bites his tongue, stopping a snide remark from leaving his lips. “Forget it,” he says. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

*

When Harry wakes up that night he feels disoriented. Blinking, trying to make out his surroundings, he sees the edge of the couch appear, his pillow and blanket both hanging off it. He must’ve fallen off somehow. He arches his back and pops his shoulders, groans, turns and checks the clock. An immediate feeling of worry fills him and he’s on his feet before he knows it, but stops. Sod his sodding husband, he’s _not_ going up there.

Defiantly walking into the kitchen, he flicks the fire on with his wand and hangs a teapot above it. As the flames lick at the pot Harry thinks of the argument he had with Draco earlier, sighs, Vanishes the fire and makes his way up into the bedroom. 

The first thing he sees when he enters is Draco’s sleeping form shivering violently. 

“Draco?” he asks as he rushes towards him. He lays a hand on Draco’s forehead and gasps. Remembering the time, he counts back; Draco should’ve had three more treatments already! 

Cursing under his breath, he conjures a chair, sits down, grabs Draco’s hand and, while petting his husband’s hair, lets his magic flow.

*

The exhaustion from treating Draco is not enough to knock him out cold, so Harry decides to shower and get dressed, and by the time Victoria and Hermione come over that morning, a steaming pot of tea and fresh bread rolls are already waiting for them on the kitchen table.

“I found Godwin,” Victoria announces when she enters the kitchen, laying her purse - which is once more filled with files in every size and colour - on one of the chairs before pouring herself a cup of tea and sitting down. 

“Godwin?” Harry asks. “He’s alive, then?” 

“Surprised me as much as you,” Victoria says, glancing over at Harry once before focussing again on adding just the right amount of milk to her tea. “But yes, he’s at home.” 

Harry opens his mouth to say something but Hermione jumps in. “No use, his memory has been completely wiped. Poor guy doesn’t even remember his own name.”

Harry curses softly and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So nothing on the evidence thing, then?” he says. 

“I don’t think it’s the evidence we should be looking at anymore,” Victoria answers him. Her eyes sparkle and she gives him a smile that’s almost devious. 

“What do you mean?” Harry scrunches his forehead. “Was there anything else we _could_ have looked at?” 

“Not concerning the case, no,” Victoria says. “But maybe it’s not the case we should be investigating.” 

Harry, confused, looks from Victoria to Hermione and back before shaking his head and shrugging. 

“The Minister,” Hermione says when Harry doesn’t answer. “He’s been behaving rather odd lately and after doing some research,” she pulls out a very old document from a leather bound file containing every single Minister for Magic name since the creation of the Ministry, “it turns out he doesn’t _exist_.” 

He stares at Hermione, slowly putting his bread roll back on his plate. “He doesn’t exist?” 

“Or,” Victoria says, hanging over the table, almost whispering, “he isn’t who he says he is.” She grabs her purse and retrieves another set of documents from it. “These, I’m going to leave with you; there’s just one more thing I need to do to make absolutely sure.” She throws her head back and empties her cup, then grabs one of the bread rolls and her purse. “I’ll meet up with you later,” she says to Hermione. 

Hermione, mouth full, holds her hand in front of her mouth and nods in confirmation. 

After the fireplace has stopped roaring, Harry turns to Hermione. “He isn’t who he says he is?” he asks. “So he _isn’t_ Minister for Magic?” 

“No, no,” Hermione answers, “he is. But the odd thing is that there isn’t a _single_ file about him. According to the Ministry’s documents, the man hasn’t even been born!” She smiles widely, but when Harry shakes his head in confusion she starts to explain. 

“The man has no relatives, no background, address, history or anything else. His name isn’t anywhere in the Birth Registry of the Ministry, nor in the Name-Change Registry - I checked,” she says. “And the Ministry documents, _everything_.” 

Harry splutters. “We need to go to the _Prophet_ with this!” 

“Already working on it,” says Hermione. “Or well, Victoria is, anyway.” She lays her hand on his shoulder and smiles again. “Harry, do you know what this means? If the Minister turns out to be a fraud, Draco’s, or any case reopened under his reign will be annulled.”

*

Checking the clock, Harry realises it’s about time to start another one of Draco’s treatments. Hoping the fever has gone down somewhat by now, he goes upstairs only to find the bedroom empty.

“Draco?” he calls out and wants to start searching when he realises that he knows exactly where he can find his husband. 

“Same book?” he asks as he walks into the library. The room is warm, lit - probably by Pip - by several fires, candles and torches. The curtains are drawn, keeping the sunlight out and hiding the spell that is so ironically beautiful. 

Draco nods and sighs. “Draco, listen,” Harry starts, but Draco shakes his head. “Don’t. I was awake last night.” 

“Oh.” 

Nodding, Draco lets out another sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- “

“It’s okay,” Harry says. 

Draco nods again and looks away. “You are the only person in my life who can drive me absolutely insane.” 

“‘s probably why you’re with me, then,” Harry says and smiles, earning a smile from Draco in return. 

Sitting down across from Draco he grabs his hand and links their fingers, making their wedding rings touch. “I love you, you know that?” 

“I love you, too, you big prat.”

*

“Harry!” Hermione says as she answers the Floo. “What a happy surprise.” Checking her watch, she adds, “I thought you and Victoria would be going over Draco’s case by now.”

“She never arrived,” Harry says. “Yesterday either. And after the whole Godwin thing…” 

“Hmm.” Hermione frowns. “With Attorney Godwin it was publicly known he was working on it, right? Whoever Obliviated him must’ve had something to do with it. But Victoria has kept it a secret, as far as I know.” 

Harry sees her turn away from the fire and ask Ron something. “Ron says he hasn’t heard from her either,” she says as she turns back towards Harry. Seeing the worried look on Harry’s face, she adds: “No worries, I’m sure she’s fine, I’ll go check on her later today.” 

“Thank you, Hermione.” 

“How’s Draco doing?” she asks. 

“He’s sleeping right now, but he’s doing better. The treatment really seems to do wonders for his well-being.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” she says. “And what about his mental well-being? And yours?” Now it’s Hermione’s turn to look worried. “How are you holding up?” 

“Fine. I have to rest a lot, though,” Harry says. “And Draco… well, we work with what we have.” 

“You will get through this Harry.” Hermione sounds reassuring. “The both of you will.” She smiles at him. It’s a kind smile and even though it’s a small gesture, it makes Harry feel a lot better. 

“I’ll let you know when I’ve heard from Victoria,” Hermione adds. “Contact me if she comes to you first, though.” 

“Of course.” 

Hermione ends the Floo connection and Harry goes upstairs. Draco is still sleeping and it’s not yet time for another treatment. Harry counts; another 45 minutes before the next one, that should be enough to get some quick groceries for tonight’s dinner. 

He writes Draco a short note, puts it on the bedside table under a steaming cup of tea - protected by a warming charm - and leaves, all the while wondering where Victoria might be.

*

With two brown paper bags filled with food and drink of every kind and colour, Harry stumbles out of the library’s fireplace.

“Wand, wand, wand, wand,” he mumbles as he tries to hold one of the bags up on his knee while clamping the other one between his arm and chin. “Damnit,” he says, unable to reach into his backpocket. He sighs and decides that carrying them into the kitchen by hand will have to do for now. Carefully kicking at the double doors leading into the hallway, he calls out for Pip, but is met by a strangled cry instead. 

“Harry!” 

Without a second thought he drops the bags, whips out his wand and runs into the direction of the cry. As he turns and rushes into the sitting room, he is met with the too familiar eyes of none other than the Minister for Magic. 

Harry stops dead in his tracks, stunned, confused and not sure what to do. Cyneric is holding Draco, wand firmly pressed against his throat and his arm twisted behind his back. 

He lets his eyes dart from the Minister to Draco and back, raising his wand. “Minister Cyneric,” he says, faked politeness in his voice. “Care to enlighten me as to what you are doing in _my_ house?” 

The Minister grins a big toothy grin, the grin of a madman, tongue darting out. Chuckling coldly, he says: “Don’t make this harder on yourself than necessary, Harry, and hand over your wand.” His eyes sparkle and the grin gets wider. “Or your dear beloved _ferret_... dies.” 

The odd feeling of recognition overwhelms Harry and, shaking his head to shake off the unpleasantly confusing feeling, he takes a step back. 

_”The Minister isn’t who he says he is.”_ The memory of the words rings in his ears. Daring to look up once more into the Minister’s eyes, he gags and falls over, giving the Minister just enough time to push Draco away and cast a curse at Harry, who is immediately disarmed and bound to the wall behind him. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw up, willing himself to stay conscious. 

“Overwhelming, isn’t it?” Cyneric says mockingly. “Oh, you’re not the first to respond like this.” He pauses for a moment. “The magic, I must admit, is quite powerful indeed, and to the weak…” Taking a few steps closer to Harry, he lifts his chin. Harry opens his eyes and stares straight into the Minister’s, making his eyes roll back immediately and shivers run down his spine. “...it might be too much to handle.” 

Cyneric quickly spins around, robes and cloak billowing behind him, walking back towards Draco. Opening his eyes again, Harry focusses on him instead of the Minister, trying to clear his head, to think of something to do. 

“If there is _one_ thing I hate more than any other,” Cyneric mutters, more to himself than to Harry, “it is a Death Eater who walked free.” He sniffs angrily at Draco. 

Harry’s eyes go wide as a particular familiar memory hits him.

_”You’re a sharp boy, Potter,” he said. His magical eye roved back to the Marauder’s Map. “Crouch could be thinking along those lines,” he said slowly. “Very possible… there have been some funny rumours flying around lately - helped along by Rita Skeeter, of course. It’s making a lot of people nervous, I reckon.” A grim smile twisted his lopsided mouth. “Oh, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. …”_

Harry gasps. 

_“I asked you,” said Moody quietly, “whether he forgave the scum who never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn’t even brave Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky.”_

_“_ You _fired … What are you talking about … ?”_

_“I told you, Harry … I told you. If there’s one thing I hate more than any other, it’s a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them. Tell me he hurt them, Harry. …” Moody’s face was suddenly lit with an insane smile. “Tell me he told them that I, I alone remained faithful … prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all …_ you.”

Harry shakes his head and stares at the man in front of him. He just didn’t see how this could be… the Minister. It made no sense, no sense at all. 

“ _You_!” he spits out, now actively struggling against the bonds holding him up against the wall. “You’re supposed to be _dead_.” 

The insane smile the Moody from his memory had worn twists the lips of the man in front of him. “Ah…” he says softly, eyebrows raised, “so you remember.” Raising his wand, he points it at himself and swishes it past the length of his body. “I guess I won’t be needing these anymore, then.” 

The magical shine disappears as quickly as it came. In front of Harry is now Barty Crouch Jr., wand in hand, manical smile on his face, ready to kill them both. Harry swallows past the lump in his throat - and he is wandless.

“I have to admit I was rather disappointed,” Crouch says as he flicks his wand in Draco’s direction, earning a high-pitched scream from him, “that you didn’t notice sooner.” 

“Leave him alone!” Harry yells through clenched teeth, kicking the air in front of him in an attempt to get free. 

Barty only chuckles more. “Our hero.” His tone is mocking. “Our precious little hero.” He spits at Draco who clutches at his stomach and rolls over in pain, moaning. 

“Haven’t you ever wondered, Harry?” Crouch says as his tongue flutters back out again, licking the corner of his mouth. “The re-opened cases, the conviction of Death Eaters, the nauseous feeling every time you left my office - you thought I hadn’t noticed? - the tinge of familiarity every single time you look into my eyes.” He laughs a high cackle, pointing his wand at Draco and hitting him with the same unknown curse. Draco screams, clawing at the carpet. 

Harry breathes out heavily, trying to keep his calm, not daring to take his eyes off the Minister. Who isn’t the Minister. Barty Crouch Jr. is dead, or as good as, in any case. 

“They weren’t punished,” he says softly, so softly Harry has trouble hearing him. “They just… walked away from him.” He swallows, and for a moment Harry thinks he sees pain in the eyes of the madman in front of him. 

“THEY TURNED THEIR BACKS ON HIM!” His lip trembling, Crouch raises his wand once more. 

“NO!” Harry screams, but it is already too late. 

“ _CRUCIO!_ ” 

The screaming fills Harry’s ears, blood rushing and heart pumping madly as he sees Draco writhing and shrieking on the floor. Hoping that somebody, _anybody_ will hear them, he closes his eyes. 

Crouch raises his wand, leaving Draco on the ground, gasping for air. 

“It was the perfect punishment. _Perfect_ , until _you_ intervened!” He points his wand at Harry now, breathing heavily, nostrils flared. “Did you know, Harry,” he says as the toothy grin returns on his face. He rakes a hand through his greasy hair to get it out of his eyes. “Did you know that the a wizards body needs magic to live?” Not waiting for an answer, he continues, circling the room but never taking his eyes off Harry. “Yes, it does. Ha! So… So without it, the body slowly shuts down.” He waggles his eyebrows. “And nobody knew!” Another mad cackle fills the room. 

“ _It was perfect_ ,” he whispers, spitting the words. “Because let’s face it, they deserve it. ALL OF THEM! To _die_ like the Muggle scum they associate with now!” 

Draco moans softly, curled up in a ball, arms wrapped tightly around himself. 

“So let’s wait, Harry. Harry Potter. Hero… our dear _dear_ hero.” Crouch’s eyes roll back in his head for a moment before he looks back down at Draco, walks over to him and bends over his shivering body. 

“Did he save you too, Draco? Sweet tiny little _ferret_ of mine? Did he? _Did he_?” 

“ANSWER ME!!!” he yells at Draco when he doesn’t respond. 

Moving his focus from Draco back to Harry, he pants. “The only thing I had to do was wait. _Wait_ until they would all just drop dead.” Gesturing his hand at nothing in particular, he moves around the room again, chuckling to himself and mumbling beneath his breath. Harry struggles against his bonds again, trying to get free, trying something, _anything_ to prevent what would be happening otherwise. 

“But then Godwin interfered,” Crouch continues and for a moment, Harry falls still. _Godwin!_. “And I had to stop him, of course.” Crouch turns back, facing Harry. “He didn’t deserve what he got. The good Pureblood that he is. Poor fellow. Yes… yes, poor lad.” 

He sniffs and stares at an invisible spot on the wall. “And then _she_ came. Together with that _filthy_ Mudblood.” Spit flies out of his mouth as he says the word. 

Fear strikes Harry. Victoria! Hermione! 

“What did you do to them?!” he wheezes, out of breath because of his struggling, still weak from Draco’s earlier treatment. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HERMIONE!” 

“Well, we had to take care of her, of course,” Crouch says calmly, still staring at that particular spot on the wall. Harry cranes his neck to see what the man sees, but is unable to spot anything. 

“She couldn’t find out.” His words are barely audible. “Nobody could. It would all fail if she had.” 

Swirling around unexpectedly, he raises his wand. “CRUCIO!” he screams at Draco, whose body spasms on the ground. 

“STOP IT!” Harry yells at the top of his lungs. “ _Please!_ ” 

Barty laughs. “And why would I do that, Harry, my dear boy?” Contrary to his words, he does release the curse on Draco, who coughs, moans and loses consciousness, and turns towards Harry. “Your sweet little Mudblood friend is dead, Draco is soon going to be dead and then…” He spreads his arms. “Then, Harry Potter, you’ll die, _too_.” His tongue flicks out. “The final revenge for my master.” 

Harry is seeing red. He pulls his arms away from the bonds, breaking the spell, falls to his knees. Looking up, he sees the man’s eyes go wide, and as he stands up and takes his first step towards him, Crouch aims his wand at Draco’s limp form. 

“One more step and the ferret dies.” 

Harry stands still, calculating his next move. 

“Back off, _Potter_ ,” Crouch spits, voice raw, eyes wide in fear. 

Seeing a familiar bush of hair move in the corner of his eye, Harry stays put. Relief washes over him, but knowing it is not yet over, he summons his wand, still. 

“I don’t think so,” Crouch says before starting: “ _AVADA_ -” 

“ _KEDAVRA_!!!”

*

As the Aurors come rushing in one by one, taking over quickly but softly consulting with one another, Harry stands still, staring at the scene in front of him. The dead body of Barty Crouch Jr. is lying limp in a corner of the room, his eyes wide and limbs in positions that aren’t possible without breaking or even shattering a bone or two.

Looking over at Draco, he sees a set of four Healers feverishly work on him. He swallows, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, and releases a shaky breath. 

Finally he turns, facing Hermione. She’s as pale as a ghost. Her hair is a mess, knotted and sticking out in random places, blood dripping from one of the strands. Her lips are purple, her eyes bloodshot, her clothes ripped. Not sure what to say, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Victoria’s dead,” she finally breathes. Her voice is hoarse and cracks at the end of the sentence. “Had been dead for a while when I got there, but they were waiting for me.” She pauses and swallows audibly. “They tortured me.” She says it without emotion, her face ashen, looking over at the dead body of the former Minister. 

“You killed a man.” 

“I killed a dead man.”

*

“Just one more,” the Healer says as he taps his wand against Draco’s throat. “There, that should do it.” Draco inhales as he feels his magic flood back into his body.

“How do you feel?” Harry asks worriedly. 

Draco reaches out and grabs Harry’s wand from his back pocket. Harry lets him, curiosity and nerves almost overwhelming him. 

“ _Wingardium Leviosa,_ ” Draco says softly and one of the Healer’s quills gets lifted up into the air. Draco gasps, a single tear rolling over his cheek. Annoyed, he rubs it off with the palm of his hand and smiles at Harry, who reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. Squeezing, he smiles back. 

“Told you.”

*

Bowing deeply, Harry enters the office. “Minister,” he says.

“I never thought I’d be back here,” the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt answers. “No need to bow for me, Harry,” he then says. “So tell me, what can I help you with?” 

Harry sits down in one of the comfy armchairs facing Kingsley’s desk. He pauses for a moment, not sure what to say, before deciding to keep it clear and simple. “Hermione…” 

“Ah,” the Minister answers. “Yes, I thought you might come to ask about her.” He pauses and looks Harry in the eye before sighing. “She’s fine, my boy. In custody, but fine.” 

“Where is she?” Harry asks.

Kingsley leans in over his desk and links his fingers together. “She’s downstairs,” he says and raises his voice when Harry tries to interrupt. “But not for long.” 

When Harry doesn’t answer, he continues. “Miss Granger was right when she said that she killed a dead man.” 

Leaning back in his chair, Harry releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“The former Minister…” Kingsley pauses, obviously uncomfortable with his own choice of words. “Barty Crouch Jr.,” he corrects, “was sentenced to a Dementor’s kiss roughly a decade ago. Miss Granger, however _illegal_ her deed, in my opinion granted him a more merciful fate.” 

He stands up and Harry, feeling the conversation is over, does the same. “And since I am the Minister for Magic _and_ Head of the Order of the Phoenix, my opinion matters at least a little bit, I think.” He winks at Harry before holding out his hand. Harry shakes it once, firmly. 

“Thank you,” he says. “For everything.” 

“That’s quite alright,” Kingsley answers with a cheeky smile and a sparkle in his eyes. “Now, I think somebody’s waiting for you.” 

Harry, confused at the statement, turns, and sees Draco waiting for him, leaning in the doorway of the Minister’s office, wand in hand and a smile promising more. 

And right then and there, Harry knows all is well with the world again.

~ Fin


End file.
